


Looks

by Mymymble



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Multi, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6696760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mymymble/pseuds/Mymymble





	1. Chapter 1

Lori walks round the fire. Her hips are canted forward, easier to take the weight. Shane remembers clutching them, the almost sharp feel of them. She's always been so thin. More so now. Used to be good. Pretty. Now it fills him with angry resentment. Daryl's been giving her food. Shane wants to do the same but Rick wouldn't like that. He gives his food to Carl.  
Lori bends over, holding her back, to talk to her son. The boy looks up, irritated. If Shane was still his Dad, he'd show some respect. Not because he had to but because he wanted to. He was always respectful of Shane, more so than he was of Rick. What was it all for, that shame, that sacrifice? Leaving Rick in the hospital...  
Lori stands straight, her back thrusting and showing off the swell of her belly. Her baby belly Shane will never caress, never put his ear to, never...  
How does no-one know? Lori's looking now. Carl's there, so she's looking for Rick. Or for him. She never looks for anyone else. Not one of life's great mixers, Lori.  
His eyes, retreating, clash with Daryl's, running away too. Dixon's always watching. His hooded blue eyes see everything. He sees Shane.


	2. Chapter 2

Buck's big and blue. Some kid's pet or genetic throwback. When Daryl slides his hands in gentle to snap the coney's neck the fur's so soft he's tempted to set it free and snuggle.  
"Now that ain't kind Darylina. Snare's set in deep and ya got all those mouths ta feed."  
"Never wanted a pet anyways."  
"Well ya got a dozen now. Useless assholes. I'd a got ya one. If ya'd asked. A pet. Ya know that cupcake."  
"And first time ya got sent down Pa'd had it in the pot. First time ya weren't around, ya not around now, Merle, ya dead."  
"Nah. Ya know that. Don't feel it do ya?"  
Daryl's just untangling the wire when there's a rumble in the jungle. He's deep in the undergrowth before he registers it's not walkers. Some bigfoot human. Dale or Shane by the noise.  
Heavy snuffling.  
Shane then.  
Yep.  
He's opened his mouth to speak when something gives him pause. Shane's been seriously weird since Officer Friendly waltzed up. And what's he doing in the woods anyways?  
Tracking.  
Fucker's tracking.  
Through the bushes he glimpses Shane. Head down but eyes looking round everywhere. He still misses Daryl, dappled like a deer in the shadows. Takes one to know one. And Shane might have tracking and shooting skills - he was a cop for christsakes - but he's no hunter. Not with those feet.  
Best to wait  
Sure enough, minutes later Shane's stomping back. Daryl smells him almost as soon as he hears him: sweat and anger and blood.  
Blood?  
Fucker's got my buck!  
Daryl slides after Shane but the cop's oblivious, deaf to all despite those big ears.  
"Cracker douche!" Huffing with rage, against Daryl apparently.  
The hunter silently shadows the sheriff as he yomps down the track, rabbit in hand, sidestepping brush, that ass bunching under his cargoes.  
Best to wait.


End file.
